


Where Things Grow

by Castielslostwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beekeeper Castiel (Supernatural), Boys Kissing, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Death of the brodependency, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gardener Castiel, Hot Chocolate, Human Castiel, Human Castiel in the Bunker, Ice Skating, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Mistletoe, Sweet Dean Winchester, Team Let Sam and Dean Live, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castielslostwings/pseuds/Castielslostwings
Summary: Holiday fic! A newly fallen Castiel is having some trouble adjusting, so Dean makes it his mission to find him a hobby. But what happens when winter comes and the only activity he's interested in is buried under ice? Dean to the rescue (again).An ambiguously-set canon-divergent fic circa season 13-14. No big bads, no Michael/Lucifer, established DeanCas.





	Where Things Grow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VegasGranny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VegasGranny/gifts).



> This fic is my contribution to the Fic Facers Auction, a gift to the winner who bid on me, @VegasGranny! A big thank you to her, and to everyone who donated to Random Acts. I hope that you enjoy your story. :)
> 
> Christmas beehives courtesy of a prompt in the Facebook group "Destiel Forever"! Original credit in the watermark. ;)

As it turns out, the undeveloped pile of dirt that covers the top of the Bunker is perfect for gardening. Well, it is once it’s leveled and aerated and mixed with expensive, high-quality soil that has to be purchased from the “yuppies only” section of Home Depot, plus covered in several inches of compost (that Dean now knows more than he ever wanted to about collecting and finishing, because he’s a _good boyfriend,_ ugh). Not that it’s a competition, but when his significant other literally gave up Heaven, immortality and magical healing/smiting powers just to be with him, it’s not like Dean can complain about doing a few (gross) chores. 

And anyway, the end result is pretty worth it, if Dean does say so himself. Even as a plain old boring human Castiel’s got a green thumb to rival any oversized-produce-growing state fair winner’s, and within one planting season he’s transformed the whole area into a bit of an oasis. There’s like, fifteen different species of flowers, a crap ton of moss that isn’t the worst thing to lay on, and bees. Bees everywhere. Cas has even got a couple of beehives now (again, thanks to Dean, and-- though he’ll never admit it, even under penalty of forty more years in Hell-- Pinterest) to tend and fuss over, and Dean’s never seen him look so happy and at peace.

Which eases Dean’s guilt just a bit, because Castiel’s been… well, a little lost, ever since he Fell. Not unhappy and not regretful, just… lost. At first, he’d followed Dean around like a puppy, learning and absorbing everything about being human “the right way this time.” Dean hadn’t protested, mostly because Cas’ casual reminder of how things had gone the last time he’d been human had felt like a physical stab directly through Dean’s heart.  _ Not this time,  _ he’d reassured himself, over and over, every time that stab of pain threatened to drag him down and hold him there.  _ Not again, not this time.  _ No, this time, Dean is determined to take care of Cas, in every way he knows how. These days, sometimes that’s teaching the dorky little badass how much toothpaste to put on his toothbrush, sometimes it’s waking him up with a morning blowjob, and sometimes it’s building a couple of beehives from reclaimed scrap pallet wood, even if that particular project does result in Dean getting seven splinters and a gash that has to be held closed with superglue.

Because when it comes down to it, Dean’s really not taking care of Castiel out of some misplaced sense of guilt or obligation. He fucking loves the guy, loves everything about him- from the grumpy, irritated way he wakes up every morning, to his stupid, terminally messy hair, to the way he  _ still  _ says, “Hello, Dean,” all dramatic and low every time they’re reunited, even if they’ve only been apart ten minutes and separated by two walls. So seeing Castiel struggle with his chosen humanity, with his  _ time-  _ now both finite and endless in a way it’s never been, as well as with his sense of purpose (is he a hunter? Does he have moral and ethical obligations to continue  _ to  _ hunt? What would he do instead if he decided to give it up?)- it’s hard for Dean. Not in the same way that it’s hard for Castiel, and Dean certainly recognizes that- but Dean’s always been a fixer, and he’s not about to accept that this is one of those things that maybe just can’t be fixed.

So Dean’s proactive in finding things for Castiel to do, to try, to fill his time. He’s supportive when Castiel says he’s not sure that he wants to hunt, but he doesn’t let him just sit around the bunker watching Netflix and being alone with his thoughts either. Dean’s done that enough times to know it doesn’t lead anywhere that’s good for anyone’s mental health. Which is where the garden and the beekeeping came in, the most successful of the many hobbies Dean and Castiel had sampled together. Despite being Cas’ clear favorite, it was far from the first activity Dean had tried to invest him in. That award (of failure) went to car tinkering and auto mechanics, and Dean doesn’t think he could have picked a hobby that appealed to Cas less. In fact, the entire event was such an abject failure that at the time Dean had been pretty sure Cas was never going to try anything he suggested ever again. But Cas had looked so adorably frustrated as he stood there sweaty and oil-covered that Dean couldn’t help but press him up against the ‘57 Thunderbird they’d been trying to fix and kiss the frown right off his face. What had followed in the backseat of that same car (which Castiel had been warned to  _ never, ever, under penalty of sleeping on the map table,  _ tell Sam about) had apparently been pleasant and memorable enough to earn Dean a second chance at finding Cas a hobby he actually enjoyed.

So then there was shooting and gun maintenance (too close to hunting), hustling pool and darts (alright, but nothing Cas had a natural talent for), and hiking. Cas’ lack of enjoyment of the last one  _ might  _ have been  _ partly _ Dean’s fault, but seriously, who walks up hills for fun? Later that night, while nursing three fingers of whiskey and icing his knee, Dean was feeling stumped and bordering on just suggesting Cas take up drinking, at least it’d be something they could do together. And then it dawned on him, he was approaching this all wrong. He needed to think  _ outside  _ the Winchester box. No more hunting-adjacent past times, he needed to think up some hobbies  _ normal  _ people would do, and for that, he was going to need some help. He bypassed Sam - that freak would probably just suggest hair braiding or database-compiling or book alphabetizing. Exercising was really the only productive hobby (not that Dean believed  _ that  _ was a hobby, see: hiking) Sam has ever had anyway, and Cas was already going running with him in the mornings, so that was no help.  

Instead, Dean called Jody and was lucky enough to catch her out with Donna, so he got twice the suggestions. He wrote them all down on a piece of notebook paper as the women on the other end of the phone brainstormed and talked over each other, then spent another hour trying to get off of the phone while Jody grilled him on his love life. That scrap of paper became Dean’s bible, tucked safely inside his well-loved copy of  _ On the Road,  _ consulted and then updated accordingly with the results of his trying each activity with Cas. Knitting, bowling, scrapbooking, photography, journaling, baking, learning guitar, golfing, puzzles and bird-watching. Some of them Cas did genuinely seem to enjoy, but nothing was particularly clicking, and Dean was determined to find something that Castiel truly loved and looked forward to. Something he would  _ want  _ to go out and do on his own, not just in the name of humoring or even bonding with Dean. This wasn’t supposed to be about Dean or  _ them _ , it was about helping Cas find his way as a human, and Dean felt like he was failing. It didn’t help then that the next thing they tried, bird-watching, was a complete and utter disaster, reminding Castiel of flying and of his long-lost wings, triggering an episode of depression that lasted almost a week. That was a low point.

But Dean’s nothing if not persistent, and the next hobby they made an attempt at was gardening. Again, not really Dean’s thing, but as it turned out, it didn’t need to be. He’d started out kneeling down next to Castiel in the dirt, but had soon shuffled back and then off to the side, sipping on an ice cold beer he’d pulled from the cooler and letting Castiel go to town. Cas didn’t need any instruction; it was obvious in watching that this particular activity came to him instinctually. A shift had happened pretty much since the moment he’d plunged his hands into the earth, and Dean had picked up on it immediately. Castiel’s face, his demeanor- it was calm, centered, focused and peaceful. He worked quickly and steadily and seemed unbothered by the hot sun and the biting insects. It was several hours before he even really looked up, and when he did it was clear that he’d been in his own little world, unaware of the goings-on around him, or that Dean was even still there.

“Hello, Dean,” he’d said quietly, a huge smile spreading slowly across his face as their eyes met over the newly-mulched dirt. He’d crawled over then and kissed Dean solidly on the mouth, smelling like sweat and earth but  _ so  _ obviously happy and grateful that it was contagious. So much so that Dean had let Cas push him down and get him just as dirty, right there next to the brand-new perennials. Cas’ hands and arms were covered in soil, and his face and neck were streaked with it too, the contrast of the sweat and grime making his clear blue eyes look even more sparkly and inviting than usual. Dean couldn’t help but think it was a good look on him, a rugged, manly look - and if he was being honest, Dean’s always been attracted to Cas’ masculine side. Laying in the dirt like that with Castiel hovering over him, that sweet little content smile still tugging at the corner of his lips, a drop of sweat trickling down Cas’ face and falling on Dean’s own, was somehow weirdly perfect. Dean knew then, as Castiel leaned down to kiss him again, pressing their bodies flush together as he did, that he was well and truly gone. He’d do  _ anything  _ to keep Cas like happy like this forever.  _ Anything. _

***

_ And therein lies my problem, _ Dean thinks to himself as he unloads groceries from Baby’s trunk and tries to casually observe Castiel without making it obvious that’s what he’s doing. Three-day-old frozen snow crunches under his boots as he walks to the Bunker’s entrance laden down with bags, his breath making white, nebulous puffs in the freezing air. Sam meets him at the doorway and relieves him of the groceries, Dean tipping his head skyward and Sam acknowledging with a knowing eyebrow raise and a mouthed, “good luck.” Dean sighs, and pulls his hat down over his ears, shoving his hands in his pockets as he trudges up the side of the hill to where Castiel is standing. He looks so forlorn, his puffy parka and his oversized scarf almost swallowing him up, but not quite enough to hide his sad eyes as he toes at the frozen ground and looks longingly over at his beehives. The flowers and soft moss are long-hidden under a layer of ice, but the bees are doing just fine hibernating in their warm little nests.

When Cas notices him standing there, he gives a half-heartedly little wave and a forlorn, melodramatic, “Hello, Dean.” Dean walks up and pecks him on the cheek, not an easy feat with all the wool in the way. “Dean, do you think we should bring the bees inside?” Cas’ voice is apprehensive, his fingers twisting the yarn of his mittens. “I know all of the literature says they’re fine like this, and I’ve checked - they have plenty of honey and they’re moving around like the books said they should but… I worry.” Cas turns those deep ocean blues on Dean, his face crinkled and knitted with concern.

“C’mon sweetheart, let’s get you inside. The bees are fine,” Dean replies, as he has every day for the past week. Castiel nods reluctantly while still eyeing his bees, but he lets Dean tug him back down the hill and inside the bunker where it’s warm. He also lets Dean take off all of his excessive outerwear and accepts a brief kiss, but when that’s done he shuffles off forlornly to their shared bedroom, thick wool socks swishing on the concrete floor as he goes. Dean follows, half out of concern and half out of pure fascination at watching a former angel of the Lord straight-up  _ moping,  _ shaking his head as he watches Castiel tuck himself under the covers. He stays hovering in the doorway as Cas then queues up Netflix on Dean’s laptop and places it about six inches from his face, right on Dean’s pillow. He lets his head drop to his own pillow and makes no sign of moving or acknowledging Dean as the lights from the laptop screen flicker and dance across his face. Having seen enough, Dean turns on his heel and heads straight for the garage, where he can make a phone call in peace.

On his way, he passes the Dean-cave and catches sight of the tree he and Jack chopped down and decorated together not a week ago. Seeing it twinkling happily in the corner, lengths of Jack’s hand-strung popcorn garlands draped haphazardly around it, steels Dean’s resolve. It’s two weeks now until December 25, and like hell if Dean’s spending his first  _ happy _ Christmas, his first one  _ ever _ with a real, nuclear family and a  _ partner, _ and a  _ home  _ walking on eggshells. Like hell if  _ any  _ of them are going to be miserable, no matter how hard Castiel tries and not if Dean has any damn thing to say about it. For once, everyone he cares about is safe and home and there are no looming supernatural threats, and Dean is going to Chevy Chase the hell out of this holiday if it kills him.  _ Hallelujah, holy shit. Where’s the Tylenol? _

He’s halfway across the garage before he even realizes he’s reached his destination, completely lost in thought as it were. Pulling up his contacts, he rocks back and forth on his feet, expelling excited energy as the phone rings before finally settling back against the bumper of the same ‘57 T-bird he’d kissed Castiel against all those months ago. A sense of relief comes over him as the line clicks and a familiar voice says his name on the other end of the line. He smiles, he’s got this, and he’s got friends who will help. “Jody? I’ve got a... a little problem. I need a new list.”

***

There’s a winter carnival in Smith Center, and Dean realizes he can tick several items off of the new list if they go. He gets Sam and Jack on board first which isn’t hard, and then tackles Cas. The former angel is still playing the part of a vaguely-Cas-shaped lump, buried in blankets on their bed just as he was last night. Since Dean brought him inside, he’s really only moved to sit up and poke pitifully at the grilled cheese and soup Dean brought him in bed, and then to octopus his arms and legs around Dean after he slid in under the covers for the night. Besides that, he’s done his best to become one with the sheets and mattress.

Dean stands in their doorway and cracks his knuckles as he observes the unchanged scene. Time to play hardball. “Up and at ‘em, sunshine,” Dean calls out as he whips the comforter completely off the bed, dropping it onto the floor so Castiel can’t grab it back. He sets about digging in the dresser for clothes while Castiel growls and pulls his arms and legs up into his chest, doing his best impression of an angry beachball. Not that he’d admit it, but Dean’s a little bit glad his angel is currently powerless, because he’s reasonably sure he’d be a burnt smear on the carpet if he wasn’t. Turning back around with a t-shirt, flannel, and Cas’ favorite pair of worn-in jeans, Dean does his best to ignore the laser-sharp death glare he’s getting and instead drops the clothes on the bed and turns towards the door. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes. Make it to the kitchen in ten and I’ll have a steaming hot cup of coffee for you. Make me come back in here to drag your ass out of bed and so help me, I’ll make you go the whole day without caffeine.”

He reaches the door and turns around just enough to meet Castiel’s eyes over his shoulder, and then he drops his trump card. “Jack says he’s really looking forward to going out with  _ all  _ of us. Wouldn’t want to disappoint him,” he says pointedly, and Castiel’s eyes narrow even further from behind the knees tucked up to his chin.  _ Check and mate.  _ Dean flashes him his biggest smile, the one that makes his dimples stand out and his eyes crinkle, the one that he  _ knows  _ perfectly well Cas is endlessly weak for, and disappears out the door. He can hear Castiel grumbling, but shortly after he hears the sink running too.  _ Success.  _ This is definitely going to work. Probably. Maybe.

Well, there’s always drinking and Netflix. 

***

A half-hour later sees the four of them piled into Baby, Sam in the front passenger seat and Castiel and Jack in the back, Jack so excited he’s practically vibrating as he chatters their ears off about all the things he wants to do at the carnival. His eyes go impossibly wide when Dean mentions deep-fried candy bars, something the carnival website had boasted about and Dean had been saving for just the right moment to share. Dean gives himself a mental high five and exchanges a relieved look with Sam when a still-grumpy Cas finally can’t resist smiling at Jack’s childlike enthusiasm, which is exactly what Dean was counting on. By the time they reach the fairgrounds, Jack has Cas engaged in a deep conversation about the odds of winning various carnival games, and Dean’s feeling hopeful. Sam’s mostly rolling his eyes and calculating the odds of finding something not fried to eat, but Dean can’t be expected to make  _ everybody  _ happy, he’s not a friggin’ miracle worker. He maneuvers Baby into a makeshift parking space at the far end of the lot and prays the carnival doesn’t attract enough interest to require someone to park next to him.

When the doors swing open and they all pile out of the car, the resulting rush of air is cold and crisp but not biting, the late-afternoon sun reflecting prettily off all of the carnival’s holiday decorations and making them sparkle. It really is perfect weather for an outdoor winter activity, and everyone’s moods seem to be holding. As they meander around, Dean mostly hangs back with Sam and lets Jack drag Cas around to whatever catches his attention. After an hour or so of various carnival games and a few rides, he gets impatient and elbows Sam. Dean feels a pang of gratitude for his wingman of a younger brother as he takes the hint and herds Jack away in search of hot chocolate. Dean quickly slips in to take Jack’s place at Cas’ side as they walk, dropping his hand to thread their fingers together and squeezing affectionately.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says as he always does, the familiar phrase accompanied by a small smile. “Was there something you were hoping to do here?”

Dean tilts his head side to side and swings their hands as he replies, “Maybe. Anything  _ you  _ see that piques your interest, angel?” Cas just shrugs, eyes flitting over the brightly colored games and noisy rides. “Well alright then,” he says with a smile and a raise of his eyebrows. “You trust me?”

Castiel furrows his brow and tilts his head as he replies, “Of course, Dean,” allowing Dean to pull him along as he sets off at a brusque pace, obviously moving with a particular destination in mind. They stroll past multiple food stands, all with delicious smells wafting from them, truly the stuff of Dean’s dreams at any other time. But right now he’s on a mission, moving past the stalls without a second glance, Cas’ hand clasped tight in his own. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the edge of the carnival where a decently sized ice rink has been set up, complete with skate rentals. “Oh,” Castiel reacts, his eyes widening. “I’ve always wanted to-”

“I know,” Dean interrupts with a soft grin, his eyes crinkling as he watches Cas’ face really light up for the first time since his garden wilted and died under the first fall frost. “C’mon,” he adds, leading an increasingly excited Castiel over to the skate rental shed. Dean helps him choose the right size and lace them up correctly - not that he’s any kind of expert, considering the last time he did this he was fifteen and trying to impress a girl ( _ the more things change, right? _ ) but he may have done a google search or two, in the name of not fucking this up for Cas. The two of them are a mess as they move out onto the ice, stumbling and clinging to each other, shuffling awkwardly as they try to get used to balancing on blades while sliding forward on the slippery surface. As clumsy and artless as they are though, they’re also equally as happy - they make their way around the rink laughing and pawing at each other, cheeks ruddy and eyes sparkling. Castiel gets his rhythm and pulls ahead, only to be seized and pulled by the back of his coat back into Dean’s arms. He throws his head back and his smile is wide and genuine as Dean’s antics pull them down onto the ice. Dean lands on his ass and Cas collapses directly on top of him, punching a loud, “OOF,” from Dean’s lungs.

Castiel fidgets and turns his body so that he’s hovering over Dean, mittens braced on the ice and bright pools of sapphire blue meeting emerald green as he breathes, “Hello, Dean,” and dips his head to brush their lips together softly. Dean’s arms tighten around his waist, and they exchange a few more sweet kisses before wetness starts seeping through the butt of Dean’s jeans. He groans, wiggling his ass and thinking about how uncomfortable the drive home is going to be, but one look at the relaxed contentment on Castiel’s face makes it all worth it, and he doesn’t complain. Instead, he lets Castiel help him to his feet, and drag him around the rink some more.

***

They stay out there for over an hour, only stumbling their way off when Dean’s ankles threaten to up and leave him and Sam’s enthusiastic ‘ _ Over here, Dean,’  _ waving from the edge of the rink turns into an exasperated slump over the side of the wall. Jack still looks happy and entertained, sporting a winning armful of cheap toys and plushies as well as a gigantic styrofoam cup of steaming hot chocolate. Castiel moans as he sits down on the bench next to Jack to remove his skates, sighing happily as he kicks them off and flexes his toes. Dean can’t help but smile at his dramatics but secretly, he loves how  _ human  _ Castiel is about certain things. Seeing Castiel  _ feel  _ and taste and stretch in his sleep and snore and drool and kiss like he needs it to breathe- none of it,  _ none of it _ ever gets old.

“Dean!” Jack’s voice shakes him from his reverie. “Look what I got!” Jack excitedly thrusts multiple stuffed animals, one plastic tic-tac-toe square, a balloon on a stick, and a paddleball game into Dean’s arms, chattering away about how he won each of them, the rides he and Sam rode together, and how carnivals were, “ _ the absolute best, Dean, how come you never told me about them before?”  _ Dean ruffles Jack’s hair as Castiel steals his hot chocolate for a sip, his eyes lighting up all over again as he turns to Dean, who holds up a hand.

“I’m on it, sunshine,” he says, finishing tying the laces of his boots and scooping up both pairs of skates as he stands. “No winter wonderland adventure can be complete without hot chocolate. We’ll get you some on the way out.”

True to his word, as the four of them wander towards the exit, Dean keeps his eyes peeled and locates a stand that’s selling hot chocolate in a variety of flavors. Castiel looks like a kid in a candy store as he contemplates his options, eventually gleefully selecting a caramel-dark chocolate mix with whipped cream and so much syrup it makes Dean’s teeth hurt to look at. The woman working the stand is a kind-looking, grandmotherly type and she blushes when Dean glances down at her nametag and says, “Thanks… Kathy,” with a wink and a smile as he takes and passes the insulated cup to Cas.

“You two make an adorable couple,” she says in reply, smiling at Castiel warmly. “Here,” she adds, wrapping an oversized homemade brownie in parchment and handing it over the counter to Dean. “For you two to share. Happy holidays.” Dean tightens his grip around Castiel’s waist as they thank her and wish her the same, leaving the booth with a warm, cozy feeling that persists all the way home. The brownie is still warm as Dean takes the bite Castiel offers him from his fingers, ignoring Sam’s gagging sounds as he kisses their tips before pulling away.

“You know, Jody’s coming down next week for Christmas,” Sam calls from behind them. “And when she does, your reign as most disgusting couple is going to be over. Enjoy your free shit while it lasts, because no one’s going to look twice at the two of you once we’re together again.”

Dean snorts. “Yea, you’re probably right. Everyone will be too busy gawking at your ten-foot tall ass and wondering how Sasquatch snagged such a hot chick.” Castiel smacks Dean’s arm, but he’s biting his lip to hide a smile.

“Yuck it up,” Sam grumbles. “We’ll see who’s laughing when there’s nowhere for you to go that’s safe from the physical displays of our affection.”

“The  _ physical displays of your affection?  _ Jesus, Sam, could you be any more of a nerd? How  _ did  _ you trick Jody into liking you, anyway? You didn’t put a love spell on her, right? That’s not cool man, consent is no laughing matter.”

“Screw you, Dean,” Sam huffs, stomping off towards the Impala and stuffing himself in the back as if to prove a point.

Dean sniffs and turns to Castiel. “We’re not gross,” he pouts. “Or adorable! We’re awesome. And manly. Right?”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel replies patiently, obviously humoring him. “But you should go easy on your brother. He puts up with a lot, you know. From both of us.”

Dean grunts and is silent for a moment but then he says, “Sammy knows I’m happy for him. He and Jody are great together. They deserve each other.” He pauses and points his finger at Castiel, “Don’t you ever tell him I said that.”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel agrees with an eye roll, sliding into the front passenger’s seat and closing the door behind him.

“Dean?” Jack sticks his head back out from where he’s slid inside the Impala and asks, “When can I start dating?”

“Never,” Dean replies, pushing Jack’s head back inside the car and closing the door, maybe a touch harder than necessary.

***

Dean knows what he needs to do now, and he wastes no time in getting started. Thankfully, the rest of Team Free Will is wrapped up enough in their own things that they don’t particularly notice his daily absence from around the bunker. Cas still goes out every morning to check on his bees, and spends most of every afternoon moping in their room. However, since their trip to the carnival, he’s at least able to be coaxed out for meals and the occasional research session with Sam. Four days after their trip, Jack even convinces him to help with wrapping some presents and baking some cookies. Fortunately, Dean interrupts that disaster just in time to prevent all of them from being rendered homeless at Christmas via a tragic, cookie-related kitchen fire. Dean gladly takes a break from his secret project then to whip up a replacement batch of cookies and hot chocolate, spiking the non-magical-one-year-old’s servings with whiskey. When Sam wanders in (undoubtedly following his nose, not that he’d admit it), the four of them toast and laugh and grab at each other’s snacks as they eat. The atmosphere is festive as hell, if Dean does say so himself. With his mouth stuffed full, Dean offhandedly mentions about decorating the bunker some more later, and fails to notice Jack’s expression change when he does. Dean disappears again for a while after their snack, and when he returns to the bunker after the sun has gone down, his jaw just about dislocates at the sight.

There’s greenery  _ everywhere.  _ Draped over the doorways and running down the sides, twining it’s way down and across hallways, wrapped and twisting up stairway railings. Bright red velvet bows and shiny red balls dot the surface of the greens at irregular intervals, and Dean thinks he even sees signs of  _ glitter. _ He meanders through the bunker, trailing his hands over the prickly-soft decor, eyes wide as he takes it all in.

“Hello, Dean,” a familiar rough, low voice says from behind him. He turns to find Castiel swaying on his feet, his eyes a little glassy and his arms loaded down with a box full of fragile-looking decorations. He’s got bits of greenery sticking out of his hair plus a bunch more clinging to the threads of the awful Christmas sweater he’s wearing (a giant knitted atrocity depicting Rudolph with an actual battery-powered light up nose). He comes to a stop next to Dean in the doorway and tilts his head up for a kiss. Dean happily obliges, his eyes closing and his hand coming up to cup Castiel’s cheek to pull him in and keep him close. Cas makes a little happy noise into his mouth and Dean tastes whiskey on his tongue. Despite that, he quickly forgets about the evergreen wonderland that’s somehow taken over his home, content to lick into Castiel’s mouth and suck on his bottom lip, his hands moving from Cas’ jaw up to tangle in his already messy hair.

They two of them are usually quite diligent about confining excessive PDA to behind closed doors, but something about the festive mood and Castiel’s uncharacteristically happy, whiskey-pliable body has Dean throwing caution to the wind. He presses his body to Castiel’s side, one of Cas’ arms dropping from the box to twine around his waist, squeezing his butt cheekily. They might have even ended up giving Sam or Jack an eyeful with the way things were headed if Castiel hadn’t suddenly lost his balance, pulling away from Dean just in time to narrowly save the box of ornaments from certain destruction on the concrete floor. “Oops,” he giggles, regaining his footing and shooting Dean a rueful glance. He heads through the room and Dean follows, hoping that when Cas gets the box to its destination they can pick things up where they left off. But Cas comes to a stop in the next doorway, tilting his head up again, just like he’d done to greet Dean. Slightly confused, but not one to turn down a kiss from Cas, Dean leans in again and kisses him solidly. This time, Castiel pulls away before they can get really caught up, resuming his slightly unsteady journey to god-knows-where with the stupid box.

Dean follows, and his confusion reaches a new level when Castiel stops  _ again  _ in the next doorway. He leans in, but Dean stops him with two fingers against his lips. “Um,” he starts, “Not that I’m not totally into this, but what’s with the whole red-light-green-light thing we’re doing here?”

Castiel sighs in exasperation and shifts the box to free one of his hands so that he can point with one finger at the top of the doorway, doing so as if his reasoning should be beyond obvious, and Dean is clearly an idiot. Dean looks skyward, and only then does he see the mistletoe nestled snugly into the garland greenery. He looks back at the other doorways they’ve passed through, as well as any others that are within sight and sure enough, there’s mistletoe tacked up under  _ all  _ of them. “Son of a bitch,” Dean says under his breath, secretly relieved to have discovered the offending plant before he ended up under a doorway with Jack, or worse, Sam. “Blech,” he says out loud, making a face at that thought. “You do this?”

Castiel shakes his head no and then seems to think better of his answer, tilting his head side to side as he replies, “It was Jack. Well, I may have helped. He’s been marathoning Hallmark holiday movies,” he adds seriously as if that explains everything, and honestly, maybe it does. Cas raises his eyebrows and gives Dean what he probably thinks is a meaningful look, turning to continue on with his box and leaving Dean speechless.

“I’m taking  _ all  _ that crap down, right now,” he mutters under his breath.

“No, you’re not, Dean. Your son is extremely proud of his work,” Castiel’s voice travels admonishingly down the hallway, from far too great of a distance for him to have been able to hear Dean’s comment at all. Dean shakes his head in disbelief and not for the first time, wonders exactly how human his angel really is.

***

Three days before Christmas, Dean’s present-turned-project is finally done. He makes a huge deal out of blindfolding Castiel and bringing everyone else along for the big reveal. Sam and Jody finally deign to show their faces, having been holed up together in Sam’s room for the past however many days, both of them emerging infrequently in various states of debauched undress to forage for food and return dirty plates to the kitchen before disappearing again. Dean, to his credit, has  _ barely  _ even made fun of them (to their faces), but does anyone bother to thank him for being so understanding and tolerant?  _ Nooooo.  _ Regardless, they’re both present and actually dressed for once, and Dean appreciates the support.

Castiel keeps his hands clasped in front of him as Dean leads him up the stairs and out of the bunker, looking a lot more like a prisoner marching to his death than a man about to receive a  _ totally awesome  _ Christmas present from his boyfriend, but that’s Castiel. Dean keeps an arm looped through one of the former angel’s, ensuring he won’t stumble or trip as they walk. Up, past Castiel’s frozen garden and the beehives, except- no, not past the beehives, because there’s something not right about them… Dean stops short, cocking his head and taking in the sight of all three hives decked out for Christmas. And by decked out, he means  _ hundreds  _ of teeny tiny red and white stockings clipped to wires with equally minuscule clothespins, strung across the front of the hives in rows of ten to twelve. For the second time in two days, Dean’s jaw drops. Sam leans in to whisper in his ear, “Is this the surprise?”

Dean does a double take at Sam’s question. “N-no, dude, this isn’t…”

He shakes his head as Castiel says, “Dean?” His voice is soft and shy like he knows what Dean’s looking at and is bracing to be mocked.

“No worries, Cas,” Dean says brightly, if a bit forced, as he starts up the hill again. They’re definitely coming back to this “Christmas for bees” thing - but not right now.

“Alright,” Castiel replies uncertainly, but he lets himself be lead.

At the top of the hill, Dean opens the newly-oiled door that leads inside the abandoned power plant and ushers everyone inside, he and Castiel bringing up the rear. He flips a switch on the wall and fist pumps as the lights come on - the breaker line he ran from the bunker had been finicky the past few days, but it seemed to be working now. “Okay, Cas,” he says, excitedly rubbing his hands together, “Ready?”

Dean unties Castiel’s blindfold with ceremony, whipping it off with a flourish that makes Castiel duck away slightly. He stands blinking in the bright light, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust before he’s able to react to what he’s seeing. When he finally processes the scene in front of him, his eyes widen and his lips stretch into a gummy grin.

The first floor of the power plant is completely open plan- no walls to speak of. It had been mostly filled with trash and rotted, indistinguishable furniture pieces when they’d first checked it out and it hadn’t changed much since, the Winchesters having no need for the decoy-building and therefore mostly ignoring it. So Dean had put it to use. He’d cleared out all of the trash and junk, sweeping and mopping the concrete floor until it shined, filling in the cracked foundation with new concrete until it was all perfectly smooth. Then he’d laid tarps- the biggest he could find and from one side of the building all the way to the other, overlapping and draping them several inches up the sides of the walls, then taping over the seams and the edges with duct tape. Finally, after checking the forecast six or seven times to ensure the outside temperatures would stay below freezing for at least a few days, Dean had run a hose from inside the bunker’s garage all the way up the hill and into the power plant. He’d left it to flow until the tarped floor was several inches below the waterline and then waited for winter to do its thing. The result was Castiel’s very own ice skating rink, complete with a decent selection of used ice skates Dean had gotten off of eBay, artfully arranged on a wooden bench, one of the only salvageable pieces of furniture from the original lot.

Dean suddenly finds himself feeling nervous, his head filling with thoughts he wishes would have occurred to him days ago. What if Cas thinks this whole thing is stupid, or excessive, or lame? What if he didn’t even really  _ like  _ ice skating? Why didn’t Dean just get him a freaking DVD box set of some show he likes and be done with it? What the hell was he thinking?? He waits impatiently for Castiel’s reaction, biting his bottom lip until it’s in danger of splitting and twisting the blindfold in his hands apprehensively.

“Dean!” Castiel’s gleeful exclamation, quickly followed by arms thrown around Dean’s shoulders and lips pressed against his own, is enough to melt away Dean’s concerns into a forgotten puddle in the back of his mind. “You did all this for me?” Castiel’s basically mumbling straight into Dean’s now-smiling mouth, but he understands and nods in affirmation. Castiel pulls back slightly, his face suddenly solemn. “But why? Dean, I… I’ve been awful to you lately. I’ve been… I’ve been a burden, an absolute miserable mess. I honestly… I’d wondered if you hadn’t been going down to the bar in town these past few weeks, not that I’d blame you,” Castiel’s looking down now, his hands slowly falling away from Dean’s body, but Dean’s having none of it.

He catches both of Cas’ wrists with a soft, “Hey,” waiting for Castiel to meet his eyes before leaning in and kissing him solidly. “Nobody’s happy all the time, Cas,” he says after they separate, without breaking eye contact. “S’all part of being human. Me and Sam know that better than anyone, probably. And anyway, I’m sure I’m not always apple pie and rainbows to be around all the time either.” Sam snorts from somewhere behind them, and Dean shoots him a glare. Turning back to Castiel, he inclines his head towards the rink. “So… you like?” And just like that, Cas’ entire face lights up again.

“It’s better than anything I could have imagined,” he replies, grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him toward the bench with the skates.

***

They all skate for hours, using a mop to smooth the rink when it gets too torn up, a job that Jack seems to take a particular liking to. “It’s like magic,” he marvels, sweeping the wet tassels over the blade marks and watching them disappear. At some point, Sam and Jody make a run down to the bunker and return with mugs of steaming hot chocolate and a bottle of whiskey.  _ That  _ helps the party drag on quite a bit longer, everyone just a bit more oblivious to the cold and not wanting to leave their makeshift winter paradise. Dean finds himself sitting with Sam on the bench for a while, passing the bottle back and forth as they watch Cas and Jody whip Jack around the rink between them, one of his hands held firmly by each of them. The three of them are all laughing loudly, and Sam’s got this  _ look  _ on his face as he watches Jody. Dean’s about to crack a joke until he’s hit with the realization that the look on Sam’s face is probably pretty similar to the one he’s sporting pretty much 24/7 nowadays.

“Huh,” he says out loud, shaking his head and taking a swig from the bottle. “Go figure.”

“What’s that?” Sam doesn’t take his eyes of Jody when he replies.

“Just, you know, us. This. Who would have thought?” He passes the bottle back to Sam, who takes a swig and smiles as he nods his head in equally disbelieving agreement. Dean studies Sam for a moment before speaking again. “It’s cool if you want to head back inside with Jody, you know,” he says carefully, his words loaded in a way that only his brother would recognize, and Sam finally looks over at him. With Sam’s gaze on him, Dean abruptly has to swallow, has to stop himself from taking his words back, from relegating Sam to the position of “forever helpless baby brother,” in need of Dean’s protection. He’s not that anymore, he doesn’t need Dean to be his everything, to fill up his empty and broken spaces, and neither does Dean. They’re still family, still brothers, and they always will be- but somehow, when neither of them was paying attention, they’ve moved beyond that.  _ Family don't end with blood.  _ Bobby’s words from so long ago echo in his head, and suddenly, maybe for the first time, Dean really understands them.

Sam seems to get it, watching Dean for a moment before clapping his big brother on the shoulder. “Thanks, Dean,” is all he says, but they both seem to acknowledge that this is a  _ big moment.  _ One of those moments that they’ll probably look back on someday and realize, it was when things changed.

***

After Jack’s gone in to crash out and Jody and Sam have retreated to Sam’s room, Cas and Dean are still skating slowly around the rink, arm in arm. Dean’s got some Steppenwolf playing from his phone, and they’re both pleasantly tipsy. Eventually, Dean falls to the ice in a dramatic, groaning collapse. Castiel takes the hint, laughing as he drags him by one blade over the ice to the bench and starts to unlace his skates.

“What are the odds of this whole thing earning me a foot rub?” Dean wiggles his socked toes in the air, and Castiel bats them away, tossing Dean his shoes.

“After you shower,” he smirks in reply.

Dean feigns offense, slapping a hand over his heart as he pulls himself up onto the bench. “Damn, Cas. You wound me,” he pouts.

Castiel just smiles slyly and slides up into Dean’s space, curling a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him in close so that their foreheads touch. “ _ My  _ plans for thanking you are quite a bit more thorough than that, and entirely unsuitable for the ice if you know what I mean,” he says, his voice quiet and a full octave lower than usual, “But I suppose if a foot rub is all you want…”

Dean has his shoes on and is out the door in a flash, pulling a laughing Castiel behind him as he barrels down the hill. His one-track mind, along with his body, is stopped short, however, when he sees the beehives. He waves towards them and asks, “Cas, did you do this?”

Even in the dark Dean can see Castiel’s face flush with embarrassment. “I know that it’s silly, Dean. I didn’t even intend to show you…”

Dean shushes him, brushing their lips together in a gesture of reassurance, and squeezes his hand. “I love it,” he says sincerely.

Castiel lets out a breath. “Really?”

“Sure do,” Dean says with a nod. “I love that you love them so much. I love that they make you happy. I love that you care.”

Castiel looks toward the hives a little forlornly. “I know that it’s silly… but I was hoping to fill them with something on Christmas morning. It’s just that I haven’t been able to think of anything they might want.”

That one catches Dean a bit off guard, but he covers pretty well. “It’s alright, Cas, we’ll think of something,” is what he goes with as a reply, and as he’s saying it he realizes that he actually  _ wants  _ to. Goddamn, he’s going to spend the next two to three days thinking up tiny gifts for bees, isn’t he? Perhaps the most surprising thought he has is that he’s looking forward to it. He looks back at Castiel, and he looks so happy and hopeful, standing there in the moonlight and worrying about his bees.

“Love you, Cas,” Dean blurts out, and though it doesn’t seem possible, Castiel’s smile widens even further. He leans in and kisses Dean gently.

“I love you too, Dean,” he replies without hesitation, stroking Dean’s cheek with his thumb. “Come,” he adds, holding his hand out and resuming their journey down the hill.

Dean follows, casting a last look at the beehives, and vowing to have something to put in them come Christmas morning.

After all, he’d do anything for Castiel.  

 

 


End file.
